


Draco's Series of Unfortunate Events

by shuns



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1k in 1 Week, Community: The Slytherin Cabal, EWE, F/M, Gettin' Lucky, Merlin's Striped Pants!, but not in that way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-06 10:24:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18386549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shuns/pseuds/shuns
Summary: Draco has the worst of luck. It always goes from bad to worse. It's almost like Fate or a ruthless author is playing with him. Life has really just becomeDraco's Series of Unfortunate Events.





	1. Going Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco finds you can never go home again -- really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In response to Syltherin Cabal's 1K in 1 week challenge.  
> Breeze, surprise and finger.

Theo was not allowed to touch a cauldron ever again.

Draco had been gone for twenty minutes - tops - just enough time to go to the bathroom, make and eat a sandwich, then quaff a pepper-up potion. When he came back all thirty cauldrons of the Underwater Wonder potion order for Wizarding Wheezes were on fire.

Draco wasn’t sure how one could catch a water-based potion on fire, but if anyone could, it was Theo. He was brilliant at charms and curses, two sides of the same coin, but a disaster around the cauldron. Professor Snape hadn’t even bothered to give him his potions OWL score. His advice had been, “Mr. Nott, aspire to a field less _combustible_.”

But Theo had had the last laugh. His father was a pragmatic wizard who quietly built up vaults outside of Britain in between the wars. When Nott Sr. fell at the Last Battle, Theo had left the little that remained in England - the land and the drafty Manor - to the Ministry. He used the rest to travel. When that became boring, he turned his passion into a business. He searched the world looking for exotic ingredients for the discerning witch or wizard. The War had been a lucky turn of events for him.

Not so for the Malfoys. The Ministry had seized it all. The Manor, the vaults, and their freedom. His Father was in Azkaban and would remain there for the rest of his life. Mother was still under house arrest with Aunt Andromeda as warden. After one afternoon with the tiny terror that was Teddy Lupin, Draco believed his mother had grounds for her sentence to be commuted. Not that she saw it that way.

“Draco when will you settle down and find a nice witch?” She asked with all the subtlety of a _bombarda maxima_ as she fondly watched Teddy Lupin destroy another toy.

His quip, ‘the twelfth of never’ resulted in a lecture on filial piety that he grit his teeth through. He wouldn’t make her cry. She refused to understand he was a social pariah, and that wasn’t changing. He had the freedom to do nothing. His parole would never end. He was the cautionary tale. No witch would have him. He hadn’t touched a girl since the War, and that had been five years ago. He wouldn’t be getting lucky anytime soon.

Well, he wouldn’t be getting lucky twice.

He had been lucky that Severus Snape was a brilliant potioneer, but a shit teacher. A whole generation of British magical folk had only basic knowledge of potion brewing. Draco suffered his spite, but he learned well at his side. When Theo’s ingredient procurement business had stalled, it was Draco who had made the observation few witches or wizards home-brewed, so they didn’t need ingredients. Draco suggested selling partially completed potions with the most exacting steps already done. Then the witch or wizard could finish it to their specifications as required. They had sold out their first batch in three days.

Theo had hired him. Since then Draco had been working six days a week 14 hours a day. He was thankful for the job and the pace. He didn’t want to end up a janitor in the Ministry as some other low-threat Death Eaters had. And he had little time to reflect on his miserable social life if he was working. 

But it didn’t excuse Theo from burning through all the gillyweed they had on hand. And they couldn’t get any more, an earthquake and subsequent landslide had spoiled the Italian lake that was the source of this particularly potent variety. So essentially they were screwed.

The Underwater Wonder was a potion Draco had developed with George Weasley. The remaining twin was a surprisingly insightful, if daring potioneer. Draco was hoping to build up a consulting branch of the business. George was the first, and only, wizard who had been interested. But now that future was on fire. After they got the flames under control, Theo asked the obvious question, “What do we do now?”

Draco’s parole denied him the use of a portkey. Theo could travel, but the other types of gillyweed, when combined with the potion medium, would result in the user growing tentacles. Not the desired outcome.

Draco sighed, “It’s a long shot, but I know of only one place we could find gillyweed here, in Britain.“

“Where?”

“What’s the one place that I would surely be sent to Azkaban if I entered? And that’s if I survived Her transfiguring me into a bug and stamping on me.”

Theo winced remembering how Hermione Granger had done just that to Rita Skeeter when she had used The Daily Prophet to attack The Golden Girl’s passion project, a reserve for Werewolves and other endangered magical creatures. He shook his head, “Draco, we can do this some other way. Tell George we need more time…”

“No, Theo. I can do it. How much can it hurt to see the place I grew up turned into a farce?”

“This isn’t going to end well.”

* * *

The first rays of dawn warmed the sandstone of what was once called Malfoy Manor - now Nobby Leach Reserve. Draco had a mad moment where he felt like he had come home. There were new wards on the land, but they hadn’t stopped him. The Land remembered. Nine-hundred years of Malfoy blood, sweat, and tears was not something even the brightest witch of her age could undo.

The mist rose from the lake behind the house. Hot springs dotted this part of the country. Bath was not far away. The warm water meant the lake never froze. Conditions were close enough to cultivate Italian grey leaf gillyweed, the best variety. Uncle Severus rarely had use for it but insisted on having access to a living source just in case.  

Draco slipped down to the Boathouse and found a small skiff. He pushed into the water and used a _prōpellere_ to glide through the water. He reached the southeastern part of the lake just as the sun broke the horizon, an ideal time to harvest.  

He had his bone knife out, as gillyweed shriveled when cutting with metal when he heard it. The splashes of some _creature_. Knowing Granger, it was probably a group of homeless merpeople. As a BREEZE picked up, the fog thinned, and he saw the source of the splashes. An otter was diving and surfacing. His task forgotten. He watched the animal play.

Under the pall of the Dark Lord, small animals had fled the environs. Even the gardens, his mother's pride and joy, had withered. It was a novel sight to enjoy the otter’s antics. A chuckle bubbled up and without meaning to he laughed. It felt good to do so. Almost like his legacy and life hadn’t been stolen from him and he had been left nothing.

The noise startled the otter, and it dove underwater, vanishing. Draco turned back to his task.  He pushed up his sleeve to reach underwater to grab a frond of gillyweed. It was a SURPRISE when a hand grabbed his wrist and pulled him face-to-face with a - water nymph?

She was beautiful. Dark brown hair and brown eyes looked up at him. Then he realized she was naked; all tan skin and rosy tipped breasts. In the morning chill, her nipples had contracted and pebbled. He felt his trousers grow uncomfortably tight at the sight.

Draco had always been a breast man. He probably was still one, though very much out of practice. Fifth year, he had spent many excellent hours worshiping Pansy’s breasts. But looking at the nymph's, perhaps he had been praying to false gods?

“What _are_ you doing, Malfoy?”

 _Oh shit_.  With her hair wet and slick against her head and with no frumpy robes hiding her very delicious body, he hadn’t recognized Hermione Granger. Golden Girl. Friend of Potter. Hater of Malfoys. “I-I-I…,” he stammered.

When she saw the knife in his other hand, her eyes narrowed to a glare. “Oh, I see.”

Draco was very sure she didn’t see but quick as the otter that he was now starting to think she had been. _Of course, Hermione Granger had an animagus form._ She released his hand and pushed off from the boat.

Treading water now, she lifted her hand and flicked her FINGER. The boat lifted in the air and flipped, dumping him into the lake.

* * *

Later a wet, grumpy Draco walked towards the Manor’s veranda. There, he could see Granger in a towel standing with Harry Potter and Ron Weasley.

It was not his lucky day.


	2. Forking Camping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Weekend camping with the boys ends with Draco hating forks, wishing for better friends and in custody of powerful, but annoying magical relic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In response to the Slytherin Cabal’s 1k in 1 week challenge - Minister, Fork, Uncovered.

Draco had said camping was a bad idea.

Greg wouldn't listen and as it was his stag night they - Draco, Theo, and Blaise - went along. Little did they know that it was not a night, no it was four days. With their reduced circumstances and travel restrictions- _thanks Ministry -_ they weren't going anywhere warm and exotic. They were going camping, like muggles. They hadn't seen a girl in two days, and they ran out of firewhiskey last night trying to keep the persistent cold and wet of Northern Scotland at bay. Now, they were sitting around a smoky, sputtering campfire in the cursed, never-ending rain nursing hangovers.

"Bet you a galleon he says bracing at least once," said Theo glumly. Water pooled on the top of his deerstalker cap. Even Theo's impervious charms on his cloak and boots had started to give under the unrelenting deluge from the heavens. Typically, Theo could rise above, but it seemed that three days of pelting water weighed him down. 

"I'll take that, and a further two galleons that he says it two times or more," added Blaise, darkly. It was self-evident his idea of roughing; it was a hotel without room service. "Any action on how many times he mentions Susan's tits?" Greg's betrothed was the lovely, curvy Susan Bones. He had lusted after the girl for years. Draco didn't begrudge him his happiness. But all that talk of the pillowy softness of her creamy breasts that were crowned with pert pink nipples. Well, Draco had broken himself of the habit of taking other people's toys years ago. But for Susan, he was willing to go back to his bad habits.

"What about **FORK** s?" They all groaned. Greg was good at three things: picking things up, putting them down and swearing. His command of the profane reached mastery level. He could weave a string foul words together to create epitaphs that stood the test of time. Minge-cent Blowstrude, pure poetry. However, Susan was godmother to Neville and Hannah Longbottom's brood of three boys. The first time one of the little dears had said 'fuck' and pointed to 'Uncle' Greg, Susan had put her foot down. He allowed her to hex him to say 'fork' in place of 'fuck,' 'ship' instead of 'shit' and 'clod' replaced 'cock.' It was like watching a three-legged hippogriff try to take off. 

"Ah there you are gents, fine morning I went for a _bracing_ swim. Look I caught us some salmon." The trio groaned. They had eaten their combined body weight in fish for the last two days. "I forking love it here. If I didn't love Susan and her fabulous tits. I'd never go back." The trio traded looks and galleons changed hands. Draco wished he had bet the trifecta. 

Blaise took out his knife and began carving the skin off of an orange. Blaise had always been just to the right side of dangerous. He carried an edged weapon on him all through school. He said it was for 'sport.' But now that he was training at Gringott's as a curse breaker, the knives - all five of them- had gotten bigger and deadlier. Draco and Theo exchanged a knowing look. When Blaise pulled out a knife, it was never a good sign. They needed to find something to occupy him, or Greg might not be making it to his bonding on time. 

Theo cleared his throat, "So I've been reading. A fascinating translation _Auraicept_  about Fenius Farsaidh discovered four alphabets, the  Hebrew, Greek, and Latin, and finally the ogham, and that the ogham is the most perfected because it was discovered last." Blaise looked up at him with homicide in his eyes, Theo continued quickly, "I've been using the ogham to boost some of my charms. Given how close we are to the North/South ley line. We could try it to see what we find?"

"You mean like a treasure hunt?" offered Draco. Hoping that was what Theo was eluding too. The two words treasure and hunt seemed to have piqued Blaise's interest as the knife disappeared. 

"What are we waiting for gents. Treasure won't find itself."

* * *

 Say what you will about Theo's flakiness and Blaise's homicidal tendencies; they made a formidable pair when it came to treasure hunting. Not even a few minutes out of camp, they had found the ley line. The magic bubbled, fizzed and popped around them. It was making Theo's longish hair stick up like a second year's  _Vestibulum_ jinx. It would take a week for the static electricity to discharge. 

They walked most of the morning. The energy was palpable around them. They sat down under a large Hawthorn tree for a break with watery tea and soggy sandwiches. The tree was ruined, the trunk looked like it had been torn apart from the inside.

Theo was chewing slowly, "I think we are close. There is so much Magic here." He flicked his wand, and blue sparks poured out.

Blaise nodded, "My palms are itching. It happens right before I make a big find." He rubbed his hands together. 

Greg and Draco watched as the two of them got up and started nosing around. They kept coming back to the tree. It was like they were moths to the flame. On the ninth pass, Draco couldn't stand it anymore. "Look on the blasted tree. You keep circling it. I'm tired, wet, and cold. Find something, or we go home."

Blaise snorted, but he and Theo started looking all over. Even Greg joined them. Draco just shivered and was miserable. "Come on, Drake. Don't be such a Dementor and suck all the fun out of it. Live a little." He walked towards them and then sat down with a thump on a particularly gnarled tree root. 

Which moved. 

There was a rush of Magic, scintilla sparkled, and bell pealed a long solemn note. "What did you do?" yelled Blaise. 

Draco leaped to his feet, "Nothing I just sat there." He pointed to the offensive root. 

"Do it again, but carefully," said Blaise. Draco didn't want to who the hell knew what they were in for. "Come on, Drake, don't be a Hufflepuff about it."

"I'll puff you," Draco muttered and sat again. Only this time it must have done the trick. 

There was a booming voice " _Who comes to Merlin's Tree? What favor do you seek?"_

They exchanged gobsmacked looks. This was THE TREE. The tree that Nimue had sealed Merlin in. Of course, he had broken free, but they were here in front of History. The men jostled each other until Draco was pushed forward, and by default, he became the nominee to speak on their behalf. 

"I am Draco Malfoy. Heir to the House Malfoy. It is an honor to be in space. I seek no favor except safe passage through this powerful place - unless you can make this bloody rain stop," he added under his breath. Then for the first time in two days, the sun broke through the clouds, and the rain stopped. 

Blaise nudged Draco's arm. "No one will believe this. Get proof we were here. Just think, Merlin's Tree! We'll be able to drink free for a year telling this story."

Draco gaped at him. "Really, Blaise now is not the time or place." Making bargains with disembodied voices seldom if ever worked out for the bargainer or was he the bargainee? Either way, he wanted nothing to do with this. 

" _Ask, Wizard. What will you have as proof?"_

The Voice sounded pissed off. Draco really didn't want to get sucked into a tree, he stammered, "S-some-something of Merlin's? His hat or his staff? Maybe his robe? Whatever you have." 

" _Merlin's hat has long since gone. A witch named Helga asked for it, I believe she made it a present to her love Salazar. The robe was claimed by a kind man who wanted to be warm. The staff I gave to a Centaur who removed a wasp hive. Though I do have one item left by Merlin when he sheltered in my trunk."_

Shrugging Draco said, "We'll take it."

* * *

"And that is how we **UNCOVERED**  Merlin's Striped Underpants, **MINISTER** ," finished Draco. 

Kinsley Shacklebolt leaned back in his chair. Merlin's Tree? His Nan had told him stories about it. This was his lucky day. With the election looming and positive press would be welcome. He didn't want to be on the front page of the  _Prophet_ holding a pair of underpants, but if they were  _Merlin's_ Pants, well he could make an exception. 

"And you're just giving them to us. Out of the goodness of your heart?" scoffed Hermione. Draco glared at her. She was Undersecretary of Being-a-Bloody-Pain-In-His-Arse or some other useless department in an idle Ministry. But here she was complicating things yet again. 

Blaise saved the day, "We felt that it would make more sense for the Ministry - The Unspeakables - to have access to it to - um- study, yes study. The Pant's knowledge." Boy, did the Pants have some knowledge? 

Mollified, Hermione nibbled her lip torn by the importance of the relic and the less than salubrious source. Draco tried not to stare at her perfect little mouth. After events by the lake, he was well aware of just how off-limits she was. She turned to the Minister and nodded. "Then we'll take it. Perhaps an award for you all?"

"No - no, getting this in the right hands is reward enough." Draco pushed the box towards Hermione. He, Blaise, and Theo stood, did a round of handshaking and left quickly. 

* * *

They met up with Greg at the Leaky Cauldron. "So they took it, right? They forking took the shippy, little clodsucker?"

Theo snorted, "Merlin's pa-um-hat. Yes, Hat. You sound ridiculous, Greg. Please ask Susan to take the hex off. I miss your swearing."

Blaise came back to the table with a round of fire whiskeys. "A toast to getting rid of that dirty old pair of pants."

Draco sipped his drink. The Tree had played them for fools. One moment he was standing in a clearing in front of the most magical tree in all of Britain, if not the world, the next he was holding a pair of worn, mangy underpants - that talked. He thought Merlin's saggy balls was just an expression. Oh no, according to the pants it was wholly based in fact. But the worst part was that the pants wanted to talk. The tree had given away its friends, so it had been lonely for company. While trapped in the tree, Merlin had enchanted his clothing to talk to him to pass the time. The problem was getting the pants to shut up. It had talked non stop the rest of the camping trip and for the next week as it rotated through the quartet. Blaise hadn't even lasted a day before he flooed to Draco and Theo's flat threatening to burn the pants.  

The talking was terrible, but the singing was worse. It seemed that Merlin and his pants only knew drinking songs, mostly about balls, cock, and arseholes. It had been at Greg's house and when Susan heard it. She insisted, strenuously, that the pants be relocated. 

No one wanted them. 

It had been Draco's idea to donate it to the Ministry. With just a bit of malicious glee, he couldn't help but imagine Hermione  _enjoying_ one of the pants more ribald serenades.  Though she was a miserable little witch, and misery did love company. They deserved each other.

However, she did not think she deserved it three days later when he opened her shrieking Howler. For the first time since he had been browbeaten by the Lake, he smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> (Looks at word count, laughs.)
> 
> Well it’s closer to 1,000 than 2,000.  
> Because word limits....puffftttt  
> .


End file.
